


Softly, without mercy

by irrationalno



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Ulaz (Voltron) Lives, au babe it's very au, chatty makeouts no regrets, mood whiplash y/y, not really xenophilia you'll see, shiro and the amazing technicolour non-disappearing ptsd, shiro's year in captivity, xenophilia and alien eschatology and falling in love oh my
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18246155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalno/pseuds/irrationalno
Summary: 'What did this dashing alien astronaut look like?'





	Softly, without mercy

Ulaz will forever remember the time he was called into Kolivan’s third floor office at the Blade HQ. Well, there were lots of times like that, but there was only one ‘the time’. Ulaz still remembers being a little relaxed, having spent a whole weekend away from his then-station, catching up on meditation and doing some reading.

He remembers taking in the sparse decor— especially the faded velvet-backed chairs that no one actually dared to use while Kolivan stood in front of the central screen, back ramrod straight and radiating disapproval of the general state of everything.

Which, all right, with Zarkon and the empire still existing, doing what they did best (worst), the man had good reason.

Ulaz passed the table with its holographic vased arrangement of juniberries and took a spot somewhere near the very back. Right next to the only other door. That wasn’t Blade protocol, just his instinct for self-preservation.

‘Ulaz.’

‘Leader.’

Kolivan inhaled slowly and noisily. Ulaz exhaled very discreetly.

‘I have a new mission to discuss with you.’

Ulaz’s ears perked up. It couldn’t be helped. He’d heard some... very interesting things from Krolia on their recent meeting. A mission to the planet the Blue Lion was hiding on was a pipe dream, but then he’d always had ambitious travel plans.

‘You will rejoin your medical officer post at Central,’ Kolivan continued. Ulaz bit the inside of his cheek, the sudden flare of hope extinguished in moments. ‘This may well be your most dangerous assignment yet. You will be required to work in close vicinity to Zarkon’s witch.’ Ulaz’s fang worried the soft skin, not quite breaking the surface. Not the witch. Anything but that.

Kolivan tapped the console around his wrist and the central screen came to life.

Ulaz stared.

‘Your POI is this individual, one of three aliens intercepted by Sendak’s warship on a routine patrol in the...’ Ulaz licked his lips. ‘... Reports of species-atypical resilience and unusual quintessence signature suggesting...’ Ulaz swallowed. ‘... Observation only,  it is absolutely imperative that you maintain the highest level of secrecy about this assignment, although naturally that applies to every single assignment. We have reason to believe this individual... Ulaz?’

Ulaz’s nictitating membranes quivered and he blinked before he could stop himself. ‘Leader.’

Kolivan looked at him coolly... then stepped away from the screen. ‘If you have questions, now is the best—the only time.’

Ulaz found himself walking forward, as if compelled by some unknown force. The image on the screen filled his vision.

Limned by violet light, the alien face glared at the lens with such rage and hatred and intelligence it seemed to pierce his soul. The features matched Krolia’s description of the species she had taken a partner from, and the resemblance to the slaughtered Alteans was also striking—barring, of course, the lack of cheek marks and the characteristic morphology of the ears. The teeth, bared in a clear display of intimidation, were blunt but seemed ready to rip into flesh if given the chance.

There was a barely healed scar across his nose, deep and symmetrical. Blood ran in thin trickles from his nostrils and both his ears. The grey eyes glittered, but they too were crusted with blood at the corners.

The witch had already gotten to him.

Ulaz raised two fingers, tracing the contour of the face. He’d seen images much, much worse, with his own eyes, reinforced by the indelible smells and sounds of battle, images of his own comrades, men and women he’d grown up with, ate and slept and laughed with. He’d seen archive images from the genocide of Altea and hundreds more of the Empire’s battles. And before that, he’d worked in the experimental medicine division at Nizina Imperial Medical College.

Something about this image spoke to him in a way no other had. The vitality. The... did his own race consider him beautiful? Surely they must. Ulaz had heard Krolia’s partner had been slightly taller than her, but then Krolia was quite short for a Galra.

It came to him clearly then, untangled from youthful memories.

‘He looks the splitting image of the second protagonist of _Taken Hotly by an Alien Astronaut from Hlohovek_ ,’ Ulaz murmured, overcome by an unfamiliar emotion. The man on the screen had dark hair, cropped close to the scalp at the sides, but white locks tumbled free over the centre of his forehead.

‘Enough, fool,’ said Kolivan, from behind him.

Ulaz jerked his hand away, sticking it behind his back, realising that his nose was a few inches from the screen.

‘I’ll assign it to someone else. Don’t even show your fa—’

‘No!’

Kolivan was grinding his teeth. Silently, but it looked painful. His jaw muscles were moving in that particular way. Ulaz should know, because that was one of Leader Kolivan’s only two bad habits, and it’d shown up in his medical bills in the past year. The other bad habit...

‘Of all the reckless, unprofessional, disrespectful...’ Leader Kolivan sounded exactly like Ulaz’s auntie when he started ranting, but Ulaz would never make that comparison public. His maternal aunt was a huge racist. ‘Thace and Regris have already received their new  assignments, believe me when I say you were not my first choice for this incredibly delicate mission and I will not have you jeopardising our position in the field.’

‘Leader. I apologise. Take it out of my stipend if you want. But I would like to accept this assignment.’

Kolivan practically spat it out: ‘Dismissed.’

‘Leader _please_.’

Ulaz was already running commands on his own console, printing out a copy of the POI’s dossier to study on the flight out of the base.

Kolivan’s eyes had strayed to the gently swaying, immaterial flowers on the table. Ulaz had heard rumours long ago—a tryst with one of the Empress Consort’s Altean lab assistants. The woman had died, just like everyone else, and Kolivan had remained unattached since.

‘Unusual quintessence signature, you said. You’re not thinking he might be a...?’

‘The very thought should be absurd. Voltron is gone and the lions remain hidden. And yet...’

‘And yet.’ Ulaz took a deep breath. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘Ulaz.’ Kolivan walked to stand by him. The older man’s breath was slightly raspy. _A cold_ , thought Ulaz. ‘Think with your dick on this mission and you might actually get us all killed.’ It was a whisper, and it made Ulaz’ ears curl with indignation.

He wished he could say it was as simple as his last... infraction.

‘I will achieve results,’ he said. ‘Let that be my answer. Knowledge or death.’

‘Knowledge or death,’ said Kolivan, sweeping out of the room.

The juniberries swayed in an infinite loop.

 

* * *

 

‘Taken hotly, huh?’

Ulaz flopped face-down on the bed, feeling his cheeks grow hot at the memory. ‘Shut up.’

Shiro straddled him where he lay. They had an entire shift off, discounting any emergency, Atlas stationed in orbit several systems away from Earth, between supply runs. Shiro was warm and strong and very light. It was like going to bed with a summer blanket on. He’d told Shiro as much earlier and received a slap on his behind for it.

‘I’m glad you told me. Remind me not to ever look up your racist auntie.’

‘I disowned my entire family centuries ago, I’m not sure if they’re even alive.’

Shiro folded himself on top of Ulaz, smushed over his back. ‘Do you miss them?’

Ulaz laughed. ‘No.’

‘My parents died when I was a kid. I’m the same as Keith. Well...’ Shiro climbed off him and lay down beside him. Ulaz turned his face to the side to look at him. ‘Not the same I guess, anymore.’

‘Marry me and I will be your family.’

Shiro blinked.

Ulaz cursed under his breath. ‘I’m sorry. You drive me absolutely insane. To look at you, makes me lose sight of all else. But that is no excuse. I will do better.’

‘So you didn’t mean that?’

‘...’

‘I’m joking, I’m joking. Let’s survive this war first, okay?’

‘I am happy to be by your side, Shiro, whatever we are called.’

‘That’s Captain to you.’

‘...’

Shiro sighed and burrowed his face between Ulaz’ head and shoulder. Now Ulaz couldn’t look properly at Shiro, but he loved the little puffs of breath against his pulse point, and the knowledge that his lover’s lips were so close to his skin.

Ulaz stroked his hair away from his face, moving by memory, and breathed deeply as their bodies reconfigured a new shape, drawing into a sidewise hug. Shiro put an arm around his hip, pulled him closer.

‘Ulaz, how long have you wanted to fuck humans?’

‘There you go again. I didn’t want to “fuck humans.”’

‘You’ve definitely done it a few times by now.’ Shiro’s hand had already moved between their hips, hot and sure and teasing. ‘Just me? No one else?’

‘I mean that I did not set myself such a goal at any time! I was curious about humans, yes, but only you—’ Ulaz gasped as Shiro gripped him at the base. ‘I wanted only you.’

‘You got a copy of that dossier, anywhere?’

He felt himself softening, his heart sinking. ‘It must be in the archives. If you want to see it—’

Shiro’s thumbnail scraped up his length. Pleasure and pain shot through him. Ulaz would let Shiro play with him a little longer, as long as needed, knowing to be patient. ‘I will find it for you.’

‘Yeah, I wanna see it. I’m almost forgetting what those days were like.’

‘Those days.’

‘Before you showed up. Before I was freed.’

‘Shiro, you—’ Shiro spat in his own hand.

Ulaz closed his eyes. He liked it this way, just fine, but Shiro’s mood was one of his less predictable ones, and Ulaz had to be careful because Shiro had tried to distract him with sex before when what he’d really needed was to talk.

‘I’m not trying to distract you,’ said Shiro, flicking his wrist just so. Ulaz wanted more— Shiro’s dick in his hand, getting them off together, or to get Shiro in him, or just to fuck Shiro so hard he’d forget those days that he clearly wasn’t close to forgetting, for a little while. But he knew from long experience that that didn’t work. Not with them. Worse, that it couldn’t.

‘Why do you know me so well?’ said Ulaz, voice an octave or two higher. Shiro’s body was close but so distant, their point of contact the hand stripping his flesh in a relentless rhythm.

‘Your ears turn downward by 20 degrees when you’re anxious.’

‘That’s not true,’ he was panting by now. He opened his eyes. Shiro’s eyes were ready and waiting, aim unerring in the dark. The witch had done things to him that he would take to the grave. And so had he. He had played his part as Shiro’s tormenter, even if forced by greater duty, just as much as he had shown him the way out.

But the glint of gold in Shiro’s eyes, the edge to his teeth when he smiled—that had been all her.

Hadn’t it?

‘Shiro,’ said Ulaz, hand clenching in the sheets. ‘ _Shiro_.’

Shiro snarled, and for one second he was the splitting image of the man in the surveillance photo that Ulaz had seen in the Blade HQ years ago. Ulaz moulded his palm over Shiro’s, feeling how the neat, short fingernails had lengthened to sharp points. He did nothing to guide Shiro, simply clung to Shiro as Shiro worked on him.

‘Let me kiss you,’ said Ulaz, ‘Please, Shiro.’

Shiro’s hand slipped from under his and then the claws were scraping over his balls. Ulaz came, silent, and crushed Shiro’s body to his own, pressing his mouth to the corner of his grimace, not kissing, just staying that way.

Shiro’s hand was dead weight between his legs where his dick hadn’t stopped pumping out his release. Ulaz used his free hand to drag Shiro’s hand up between their chests, weaving fingers together, messy and hot. Then he let go. ‘Shiro, I will go to my quarters, please sleep well tonight, we will talk later, I can—’

‘I can’t do this,’ said Shiro, against his cheek. ‘I’m a monster. He was right.’

‘He, who?’ said Ulaz, then felt a chill. ‘Shiro, you slew him in battle. The fate he deserved. You are a hero. A defender of your people. A defender of the _universe_. You are no monster.’

He knew the words were reaching Shiro, but their impact might be no more than mere noise. After all, he’d had similar—not the same, never the same— conversations with himself, time and time again.

‘I’m not the person they think I am,’ he said. ‘I’m not who I think I am.’

Ulaz kissed the soft lobe of his ear, the brilliant white hair that spilled over his eye. ‘You are Takashi Shirogane, Black Paladin of Voltron, Captain of the Atlas. You are a good friend, a guiding light to so many. You are the man I dreamed about when I was a stupid teenager pirating pulp novels about dashing alien astronauts from the far reaches of the universe. I am lucky to know you.’

There was silence, almost a minute’s silence, and Ulaz wondered if Shiro had fallen asleep. Perhaps he could stay in Shiro’s quarters tonight and watch over him, or, if he was sleeping deeply enough, he could slip carefully and away, back to his own quarters, which were only across the corridor, happily, and...

A snort. Then Shiro was laughing. Ulaz smiled down in the dark, something relaxing in his chest at that sound.

‘Ulaz?’ He loved the way Shiro said his name. He would never tire of him, if allowed to stay. He would never tire of him regardless.

‘Yes?’

‘Kiss me.’

Ulaz did.

‘Tell me more about your trashy novels.’

Ulaz groaned. ‘I am not sure if they were illegal for promoting “xenophilic propaganda”, as my dear aunt curse her soul used to call them, or if they were illegal for being the worst writing since the military recruitment ads under S... Anyway, they were terrible.’

He was lying. He’d inhaled them, hidden away in his room. He paused to lick along the seam of Shiro’s lips, feeling how the fangs had receded. He made a note to ask later—much later, very carefully— if they hurt him in any way, or if they’d been chipped. He had that much right as one of the ship’s medical officers, at least.

Shiro arched up into the kiss, chest straining at the worn black vest he’d come to bed wearing. Ulaz slipped one hand under the thin fabric, peppering his mouth with small kisses.

‘There’s a term for that in English,’ said Shiro, between kisses.

‘For trashy novels? What is it.’ Ulaz pinched one of Shiro’s nipples, swallowed Shiro’s little moan. His hand flattened again, ran down the sculpted planes of his chest and stomach, revelling in the warmth and life, counting and smoothing over every scar.

‘Purple prose,’ Shiro gasped.

‘Very funny,’ said Ulaz, feeling Shiro squirm under his touch as his hand stroked farther down his torso.

‘What did this dashing... alien astronaut look like?’

‘He didn’t have a face,’ said Ulaz. ‘Now there’s you.’

‘You have a way with words, Ulaz.’

‘I know I’m better with my hands and mouth,’ he said, moving down Shiro’s body to demonstrate.

‘Don’t forget your dick.’

Now it was Ulaz’ turn to laugh.

 

* * *

 

Having scrambled the surveillance feeds, Ulaz knelt carefully on the floor of the cell, observing his ward.

FP 117-9875.

Champion.

One varga. Less.

The alien was sleeping, knees curled up to his chin, back slumping away from the wall. Facing the door. The suppressor cuff on his right arm lit up in a pattern like old Altean festive lights. A morbid thought. The device made sure Champion wouldn’t be able to use his new prosthetic against his masters.

Champion had a name, and Ulaz knew it. It had been in Leader Kolivan’s dossier. On duty, he wasn’t supposed to know it, and no one used it. It sat on his tongue like smuggled Kythran toffee, the foreign twists and turns sweet and dangerous.

< _Takashishirogane_ >

(Phonetic transcription)

The witch had taken him away so many times she probably knew his entire language, his school report cards, the way he liked his lover to touch him. That was how it went, the witch carved her victims until all that was left was a husk.

Or so he’d been told.

He, the chief medical officer on this vessel, knew exactly four words of this alien’s language. His name, the word for water, the word for refusal, the word for pain.

Maybe there were more words for those things, or maybe they’d got some of them wrong.

He was no linguist.

Heart hammering in his body, Ulaz cleared his throat, staying out of range out of takashishirogane’s limbs. He didn’t want to waste time having to restrain the prisoner.

The alien’s mouth was slack, but his eyes moved under his lids. He slept light. The dossier had said he might have been part of the military on his home planet, for he was a fierce warrior.

‘Aa.’

Ulaz’s ears twitched. He pushed the surgical mask down under his chin.

‘ _Adam_.’

That was not a word he’d heard before. He committed it to memory.

‘Champion,’ said Ulaz, out loud, hating himself.

The man awakened immediately, like a piece of machinery being turned on. One moment his eyes were shut, the next they were open. Foggy grey eyes pointed right at Ulaz.

He remembered Ulaz, then. Now. Sometimes he didn’t.

Takashishirogane said something else, a rapidfire sequence of sounds that he couldn’t differentiate. They didn’t have nearly enough words for a translator to be useful. Ulaz watched him carefully, not showing that he understood anything, hoping the man would understand.

He did, just as quickly. The man made a curious sound through his nostrils.

‘Water,’ said Ulaz, slowly holding up the flask he’d brought along.

The man stiffened, recoiling from the object.

‘Water,’ said Ulaz. He motioned, the correct motion given the similarity of their anatomy. Tilting his head back, exposing his throat for a moment.

The man watched.

FP 117-9875’s fluid and solid intake and output were measured every day. It wasn’t because he was fighting in the arena, but because he was Haggar’s test subject. The arena was the means, not the end.

The prisoner had refused sustenance, long ago. After a stint on drip feed and tubes he’d stopped refusing.

He'd been in solitary for months now.

Ulaz poured from the flask into his own open mouth, a little bit, but enough to be seen. Swallowed visibly. And showed his tongue, the inside of his mouth.

The man’s shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly.

Ulaz offered him the flask, content to let him take it from his grasp. It was not much of a weapon.

The man bypassed the flask and laid his left hand on Ulaz’s wrist. And tugged.

Ulaz stumbled forward.

The mask was down and the man was breathing through his mouth. A gust of hot, sour breath hit Ulaz’s face. Ulaz inhaled, the flask dropping to the floor.

‘Ulaz,’ said the man, clearly, softly. Without mercy.

Ulaz was shaking.

‘Ulaz?’

He had been called by that name. It was his name. The prisoner must have overheard it during one of his lucid moments, and remembered it. That was all.

Ulaz moved his head up and down, mimicking the alien, hoping he was getting it right.

The man’s eyes widened. His pupils quivered. He had pupils. This race had eyes similar to Altean eyes, but the colour pattern was different.

He looked down at where the alien was holding his wrist, the hand not even wrapping all the way round. The alien’s knuckles, raw-skinned, whitened with the pressure Ulaz barely felt.

Ulaz removed his hand carefully and the man allowed him. Ulaz removed his glove, dropped it on the floor, and picked the flask up again.

The alien stared at his claws.

Ulaz tried not to think about it, but the passages hurtled to his consciousness.

_The alien astronaut from Hlohovek stared in wonder at my claws. I could not understand him. They said that he came from a planet whose tongue had been cut off by the Great Emperor. The alien astronaut could not speak. If he opened his mouth, there would be only gibberish. If he opened his mouth, a cloud of insects would fly out. If he opened his mouth, there would be only darkness._

The man’s hand was much smaller than his, but strong. Impossibly strong. And it was his flesh hand.

_The alien astronaut was rumoured to be a terrible portent. The elders said his coming would bring the end of the Great Emperor’s reign. He would bring metal chariots, made by the deathgivers, and war such as our Land of Peace had forgotten. He would remake the cosmos, for he had been eaten by stars, and he did not fear the night._

Ulaz raised the flask, made to hand it over. The man kept his hold on his hand.

_I, Basek of the Emperor’s Guard, saw only a man, bowed and weathered by many storms. My traitorous body craved his touch. My loyalty was scattered to the winds. My death was in his hands. My heart was in his hands._

The man drank like that, neatly, wasting no drop.

_My death was in his hands and it would be a sweet death. His body was soft and weak, mine was strong. His body was strong, my body was soft and weak. I feared the night and was eaten by the stars._

When the water was gone, Ulaz settled on his knees. He’d forgotten how many doboshes were left. He was in danger. They both were.

The man placed his hand on his chest. ‘Shiro.’

‘Shiro,’ said Ulaz.

Shiro smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i accidentally this whole fic in one sitting because i miss ulaz and all the story potential about him and shiro. they make me Feel a lot of Things. enjoy, hopefully?


End file.
